Apollo City
by iluvcm
Summary: JJ's life is on a downward spiral, whilst Derek's is just getting better. Although they have both lived in the same town for all of their lives, their paths have never crossed. But when JJ sees Derek waiting for a train at Georgetown station, she has to add him to her list of addictions. And as she watches him, day in, day out, she wonders if they will ever meet.
1. FIRST SIGHTING

Disclaimer: If you recognise anything or anybody, the chances are that CBS owns it, and I don't. If you don't recognise it, it's likely that I _do_ own it. Any mistakes are mine (duh… who else's would they be?), and I apologise for them. _Please make me aware of them _so I correct them. Thanks!

**Apollo City Chapter 1**

The first time she saw him, she was on the subway, and he was on the platform, waiting for the train at Georgetown. He had been listening to music, and she saw the beat pulse through his mind, even in the split second that she'd seen him. The headphones were silver, and rested on his short fuzzy brown hair. His skin was a chocolate brown, and he had a neatly cropped goatee to match his impressive eyebrows. A glint in his right ear told her that he had a diamond piecing. And he stood there, eyes closed, probably humming, although she couldn't hear over the grumble of the trains. His thumbs were hooked into the pockets of his black jeans, and the angle of his arms showed off his muscles. He had been wearing a v-neck navy shirt, and his chunky black belt contained two cell phones and an empty holster. The watch on his left hand was a heavy and black, and there was a small sore patch just below his elbow on the opposite arm, presumably where his gun rubbed when he was wearing it. He was swaying slightly, his eyes still closed, oblivious to her staring. Then, the train had pulled out of the station. The next stop was hers, she thought, her mind still on the man she'd seen at Georgetown.

"Apollo City," announced the recorded voice, and she grabbed her bag and swung it over her shoulder as she exited the train. The metal doors swung shut behind her and the train moved on. She hurried up the many stairs, too impatient to wait for the elevator, and jogged out of the station, slightly out of breath. The bag bounced up and down on her one shoulder, rubbing a little on the bare skin. She had been wearing a white spaghetti strap tee and coffee coloured skinny jeans with her black converses. She wondered if he would like it.

A light spattering of summer rain had started to fall, and she jogged a little faster, past the corner store and the little preschool, and inside the store she visited the most: the liquor store.

"Hey Jim," she said, shaking her side fringe out of her eyes.

"T'sup Jenny," the shopkeeper replied, raising a hand in a casual greeting. He was single, 34, tubby, and smelt of downmarket cigarettes and beer. Today, he wore what he wore the previous day: a grubby checked shirt and old faded jeans that trailed bits of white string where he had stepped on them at the back and worn down the denim. "How are ya?"

"I'm good, you?"

"M'okay. What can I do for such a beautiful lady like you today?"

"Just the usual Jimmy," she replied, as ever, embarrassed by his banter.

As she looked down, she felt the touch of red that she would not let appear on her cheeks. She flicked her long blond hair out of her eyes and stared at the meaningless adverts behind the counter. He handed her a carrier bag, with a packet of Marlboro's, a small bottle of cheap red wine, and a fifty gram bar of extra dark chocolate.

"I really need to quit," she said quietly.

Jim said nothing, both of them knowing that if she quit her daily fix of red wine, Marlboro's and dark chocolate, she would never set foot in the tiny liquor store again.

"You're quiet," Jim commented, wiping his sweaty hands on his backside. "Whatchya thinking Jenny?"

She didn't reply, only smiling serenely as she left the shop. "I'll see ya Jimmy," she called, as she let the glass door close and heard the tinkle of the bell to indicate that she'd left. She walked fast, her converses dampening with every step. Five minutes later, and she was fumbling in her bag, trying to find her keys. She felt a pen and a notebook, both labelled "Troy Stewart Architecture", her cell, and finally, her keys. They jangled as she shoved them in to door and stepped into her tiny house. She inhaled. It smelt of stale smoke and old alcohol. She flicked the switch and the dim overhead light came on, illuminating the trash can, overflowing with take-away wrappings, and the sagging bed in the next room. It was only three rooms; her bedroom, the bathroom; with its community of tiny spiders, and the kitchen; with the microwave, table for two and old kettle. That table for two. One chair had a stack of un-read hardback Dickens books where one cheap wooden leg should have been, and was swamped by stacks of clothes. The other one had peeling paint and little black dips where she had been two drunk or too tired to find her ashtray, so she'd stubbed out her cigarette on the arm of the uncomfortable wooden chair and burnt small circles in it.

She sat on the second chair, and cracked open the plastic cover on the red wine. Then, it was the seal on the eighty five percent dark chocolate. Lastly, it was the little gold tag she had to peel off to open the cardboard box of cigarettes. She stayed there for two hours, smoking all twenty cigarettes, and drinking the whole bottle of sour wine which tinged her lips and tongue red. The chocolate disappeared square by square, leaving small shavings on the table, which, when she tried to pick them up to eat, melted onto her slender fingers. She sucked at them to get every last morsel of chocolate. Then, not feeling hungry, she stripped down to her underwear and climbed into her bed, ignoring the creaking of the springs. She flicked the switch by her head, and was plunged into darkness.

After being woken harshly by her alarm, and she groaned and crawled out of bed. She stumbled into the kitchen, running a hand through her unwashed hair, and started the kettle with yesterday morning's water. She found a clean teaspoon, and ladled the instant coffee powder into her mug. Then, she poured the water over it, stirred, and sipped. She walked sleepily back to her bedroom and sat down heavily on the unmade bed. She drunk a little more coffee, and then stepped inside the shower, trying to wash away the cobwebs, both in the corner of the shower and in her mind. The water was cold. It always was. She finished quickly, and hurried back to the bedroom, naked and shivering, to find some clothes. Finishing the cooling coffee, she brightened her eyes and coloured her face with her some ancient No7 makeup, and pulled on her now-dry black sneakers. The laces had once been white; so had the toe. Now they were grey, edging on that delightful hue of sludge. She grabbed her keys and cell, and swung her "Troy Stewart Architecture" bag onto one shoulder. The last thing she did before leaving the house was to brush her hair messily with her fingers and turn off the lights before leaving her house.

She hurried to Apollo City station, and managed to get a seat on the train. She sat staring at the pointless ads and her boring fellow commuters for seven stops until she got off and her station: Campbell Place. The walk to the office took the fifteen minutes, but she stopped off at a café on the way for another watery coffee, before entering the building. She said hi to her boss, Mr Troy Stewart himself, and got settled at her desk. It was then that she realised that she had made it all the way to work without thinking about him. That man at Georgetown.


	2. LOST AND FOUND

Disclaimer: If you recognise anything or anybody, the chances are that CBS owns it, and I don't. If you don't recognise it, it's likely that I _do_ own it. Any mistakes are mine (duh… who else's would they be?), and I apologise for them. _Please make me aware of them _so I correct them. Thanks!

**Apollo City Chapter 2**

At seven thirty on the dot, the train pulled into Franklin Close. She folded the newspaper she had been reading and sat up straighter, waiting for the moment when they would arrive at her favourite station.

"Georgetown," the voice said, ringing through the quiet train. She craned her neck to see him as the train screeched to a standstill. Where was he? Where was he? Her heart fluttered with anticipation as she scanned the platform. And then, there her was, standing with his feet one shoulder-width apart, his eyes closed, listening to music on his silver headphones. She drank in his handsome figure, smiling silently to herself. He was wearing some slate gray combat pants this time, with a khaki round-neck tee which clung to his flat stomach. She felt her eyes flicker to his stomach, and she focused on the six little bulges of muscle she could see there. She sighed internally.

She watched, transfixed, as his eyes blinked open, and her felt at his belt for his cell. He took out one, glanced at it, before shoving it back into its leather pocket on his belt. Hurriedly, he took out his other cell. She saw his face contort, and he tapped the touchscreen quickly before placing it to his ear. He started talking almost immediately, and glanced around before running back up the stairs. He had moved out of view. He probably left something at the office, she thought, consoling herself. But no-one looks that depressed or worried when they leave their house keys or something on their desk and a co-worker rings to tell you. And she almost missed her stop wondering what it could be. It was then that she decided that she would keep a diary. She thought about using one of her many empty "Troy Stewart Architecture" notepads, but changed her mind when she realised that he needed something more special. So that night, in Jim's liquor store, she spent an extra eleven dollars on a baby blue leather bound notebook and a navy ball point pen which sometimes spattered ink all over her hands.

Over her wine, chocolate and cigarettes, she started writing. She wasn't much of a writer, she had to admit, but she could draw. That was, after all, why she went to art school, design collage, and was now an assistant architect in one of the smallest and unknown architecture companies known to man. So she drew a picture in a dirty stub of a pencil, spending hours perfecting the man's chiselled jaw and arrogant posture. Then she wrote something underneath:

_Thursday 19th July 2012_

_I saw him for the first time today, and I fell totally in love. He is just gorgeous. He seems so sweet._

It was childish, and it made her blush at how stupid she sounded. Love at first sight? Yeah right, dream on Jennifer. She flipped the page over, and drew him again, this time in a different position. The graphite man was running up the stairs, his expression hard and his stride purposeful.

_Friday 20th July 2012_

_I saw him again today. He looked so amazing and serene until his cell rang and he disappeared. At first, I thought he'd left something at work, but he seemed so relaxed into this routine. He looked sad, as if he knew what was coming, as if he knew the future. I wish I could help him. I wish I could meet him. _

It was midnight by the time she'd finished both pages. Sometime before that, she had migrated to her bed to have a more comfortable position to lie in while she drew. She placed the notebook on the bedside table and climbed under the covers. And just as she fell asleep, while she was in that hazy faze of half-consciousness, she realised that she hadn't finished her cigarettes. She had been so engrossed in drawing him that three of them were left in the packet. The rest were burnt up in the ash tray. The empty bottle of red wine was in the bin, and the chocolate wrapper, literally licked clean, was lying crinkled on the floor by her bed, all traces of chocolate gone. She had only had seventeen cigarettes. That hadn't happened since she was about twenty. And all because of him. It was a start at least.

She continued writing in her blue book every day, hoping, praying, that she would see him.

_ Saturday 21st July 2012_

_He wasn't at the station today. Or maybe I just didn't see him. _

_ Sunday 22nd July 2012_

_No work today. I really should work on Sunday's, I mean, I don't do anything useful. Sunday's are a really pointless day in my life. And besides, I need to money. And it would be nice if I saw him._

_ Monday 23rd July 2012_

_Still not there! I'm starting to get worried. The weekend, I can understand because he might not work on weekends. He looks rich enough not to. He probably goes clubbing with his friends and gets about a hundred girls following him home. But Monday? Everyone works on a Monday. Maybe he had a tragedy? A death in the family?_

_ Tuesday 24th July 2012_

_I have thought about this long and hard. He didn't look shocked, grieved or even sick on Friday when he disappeared. So no tragedy. He looked like he was entering a well known routine, like getting up in the morning - nobody wants to do that, but we still have to do it, every single day._

_ Wednesday 25th July 2012_

_Nothing whatsoever. I'll wait until tomorrow. Maybe he only travels to Georgetown on Thursdays and Fridays._

_ Thursday 26th July 2012_

_He wasn't there. I got off the train to search to platform, but I couldn't see him._

_ Friday 27th July 2012_

_I SAW HIM! Finally. I really missed him. That sounds weird, because he doesn't even know I exist, does he?_

Here, she drew a picture of him. He was exhausted, and carrying a large black bag on one muscular shoulder. He slouched a little as he stood, and he was swaying more than ever as he listened, eyes closed tightly, to his music. Then, the train pulled away. And Jennifer had never been more excited for a work day on a Saturday.


	3. 235 LONDON STREET

Disclaimer: If you recognise anything or anybody, the chances are that CBS owns it, and I don't. If you don't recognise it, it's likely that I _do_ own it. Any mistakes are mine (duh… who else's would they be?), and I apologise for them. _Please make me aware of them _so I correct them. Thanks!

**Apollo City Chapter 3**

Jennifer found herself in her local Wal-Mart before work the next day. It was a Saturday, so she was allowed to be later than usual, she reasoned with herself. In her basket was new make-up, a nicotine patch and expensive menthol cigarettes which looked absolutely disgusting, but she was willing to give them a try. She was wearing an outfit she hadn't worn in years. It was a short red summer dress with a large metal necklace in the shape of a spiral. The dress itself had a thin, bright red cotton slip underneath, and another layer of slightly darker lace, woven into the typical Indian teardrop pattern that she adored. It hugged the figure that she'd still managed to retain from her days playing soccer, and reached to the middle of her toned thighs. She still had her black sneakers on, but she had bought new laces and cleaned the toes so they shined white and clean. She had dug out an old handbag to replace the "Troy Stewart Architecture" rucksack she wore, which made her look like a student. She purchased her findings, and made her way to the public bathrooms in the store to apply the new red lipstick and black eyeliner. She covered up her patchy, pale skin with a healthy blush and her eyes were widened by her new, un-clotted mascara. And with her posh black handbag, expensive face and classy summer dress, she looked like a whole new person.

People at work noticed.

"You've met a guy," nodded Claire understandingly, who was the woman who sat at the desk facing hers.

Jennifer just smiled in reply, leaving her to work it out for herself. Her boss came in to give her some development plans, and commented on how fresh she looked. Andy, the man she'd previously had a crush on, until she'd seen the man at Georgetown, wolf whistled and called "Hey gorgeous!" as she'd entered the airy, open-plan office. She liked people's reactions to the new her. She hoped that he would like it.

That day, after copious amounts of coffee, she left the office early, and got the train before the one she usually caught.

"Georgetown," called the annoying voice from the speakers.

She stood up, smoothing down her dress and stepped onto the platform. It smelt of pee and it was cold. She shivered in her provocative outfit, and glanced upwards to the timetable. The train that she was usually on was due to arrive in six minutes. She patted down her hair and wiped her hands on the front of the dress, admiring her blood red nails at the same time.

She looked so conspicuous, just standing here. People knew that she didn't take this train. Everyone was staring at her. Her and her short dress. They knew she was just wearing it for him. They knew that she was changing her life around just for him. Just so that he would like him. She blinked. But no-one was staring at her. They were in their own worlds: staring into space, reading, or listening to music. No one cared about her. No one knew.

Then, he came. It was five minutes to her train. But she wouldn't get on her train. She would get on his train even if it would take her a whole week to get home. She wanted to see where he lived. She needed to see where he lived.

But wait. She had been so engrossed in staring at him, that she hadn't noticed the woman he was with. A woman. Another woman. How dare she!

"NO!" the wail was out of her mouth before she could stop it. People turned to stare. Now they were staring. Great. Some even started inching away. He turned to look. So did the woman.

"Come on Derek, let's move down a bit," the woman said.

Then, Jennifer Jareau's world stopped. He was called Derek. Derek… Derek… Derek… What a perfect name. An utterly gorgeous name for an utterly gorgeous man.

"Wait, this is my train," she said, indicating the train that was rushing into the platform with a nod of her head. "See you Monday Derek."

"See ya," he winked. Jennifer went light headed at his cuteness.

The woman stepped onto the train and waved as it pulled out of the station. She was pretty, Jennifer couldn't deny that. She had porcelain coloured skin, dark curly hair, and a wide smile. Her lips were red and full, and she was shorter than him. Jennifer had already named her Snow White. But she could see that Derek and Snow White weren't in a relationship. They were just friends, right? Because otherwise they would have been seeing each other the next day, Sunday. And their farewell would have been a little more than a wave with a plastic train window in between them.

Then, the next train arrived, sending a rush of wind into the crowded platform. It was the train that Jennifer would have been on if it had been a normal day. If she was a normal woman. She knew there was something wrong with her obsession with this man - Derek, but she couldn't help herself. He was just so… addictive. He was her drug.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the train leaving. She would be late home, though it wasn't as though anyone was waiting for her in her smelly little flat. Jim might be worried, but why should she care? He was just some broke guy who was always hitting on her. Nothing special had ever happened between them.

She looked up at Derek standing in front of her. His headphones were on now, and his thumbs hooked into his black combat pants pockets. His feet were a little more than one of his shoulder-widths apart, like always. And he was swaying. Jennifer found herself swaying too, trying to keep in time with him.

The next train arrived and he got on it. She followed. He sat down in the corner and took out a Kurt Vonnegut book. It was a well thumbed paperback copy of _Mother Night_ with pencil markings in the margins and underlining of obvious favourite passages.

She took out her baby blue notebook and pencil (she had brought a new one especially for him) and started sketching. He had a particular way of sitting, with his elbows on his knees and his forearms at right angles, holding the book. His headphones were now resting around his shoulders so he could enjoy the book more. Men: they can't multitask, she thought with a small smirk. She watched his face as he got to a good bit. He raised his odd eyebrows and a small smiled graced his soft brown lips.

"Apollo City." Should she get off the train and go home? Jennifer made up her mind almost instantaneously - no. The train sped on.

"Virginia Street."

"Tulip Way."

"London Street." Derek got up, folding the top of the page over, and shoving the novel into his back pocket. He flicked his headphones back onto his head and clicked the button on the cord to play the song. The train doors slid open and he walked out. Jennifer jumped up just before the doors closed and slid through them. She hurried up the stairs and followed him out of the station. It was raining - again, and she had to jog to keep up with him. Just thirty seconds later, he stopped outside an apartment block and huddled in the doorway to keep dry while he took his keys out of his black shoulder bag. Jennifer kept walking past so as not to look suspicious, but she had noted the name of the building in her memory: 235 London Street.

**Hey guys! Please keep reading, review and check out my other fic (still in progress) 'The Journalist'.**


	4. EMILY

Disclaimer: If you recognise anything or anybody, the chances are that CBS owns it, and I don't. If you don't recognise it, it's likely that I _do_ own it. Any mistakes are mine (duh… who else's would they be?), and I apologise for them. _Please make me aware of them _so I correct them. Thanks!

**Apollo City Chapter 4**

Underneath her drawing of him sitting on the train reading Kurt Vonnegut, she wrote:

_Saturday 28th July 2012_

_235 London Street. That's where he lives. And there are only 20 apartments there (I checked). Today, I also tried the nicotine patch. It seems to be working, as I've only had 15 cigarettes today, instead of my usual 20. Or maybe it's just my obsession with him - Derek. That's his name - Derek. What a perfect name. He's a Kurt Vonnegut fan and was reading _Mother Night _on the subway - cute! __ But today, he was with another woman - Snow White. __ Does that mean I'm the wicked stepmother? Derek and Snow don't seem to be anything more than friends or co-workers, but still… No-one should be allowed near that god apart from me. He's mine._

She realised, over her menthol cigarettes (which were not as disgusting as she'd expected,) that he entries about Derek were becoming longer and more detailed. She flicked back a couple of pages and stared at the drawings for a while, before having a shower and getting into bed. She fell asleep instantly, the lack of alcohol and nicotine making her drowsy.

_Sunday 29th July 2012_

_I woke up at 9 today, and I'm going to go back to 235 London Street to see Derek. I'm on the subway now. And I've got a camera now, because, although I love drawing him, it isn't the same as having 3D, colourful, real moments of time captured on paper._

_Later: sitting on a bench outside the entrance to his building. I've taken a couple of photos of the area, just to remember it. It's interesting to look into someone's life like this. It's 12 now, so he should be out soon. I've been waiting for 2 hours already._

She looked up just at the right time to see someone leaving the building with a little white dog on a lead. It was Derek. He was wearing sweat pants and a vest, and saying

"C'mon Clooney!" Aww, his dog was called Clooney, like the actor. How cute! She quickly snapped a picture on her Polaroid camera. He had jogging earphones in, and started off at a reasonably fast pace towards to park.

_Later: He just left to go running with his dog called Clooney._

And here, with her pritt stick she'd brought with her, she stuck in the newly printed photo, and started sketching his happy, relaxed face as the sun hit him when he'd closed the door of his building.

_Later: Derek arrived back, two hours later. I was starting to go stiff. He looked sweaty and out of breath. He's definitely fit. I wonder what he does for a living - athlete maybe? No, he has too much time to be a professional athlete. Cop? I don't know. He's about three minutes away, down the road, but I can still see him._

Derek got closer, and Jennifer stared. She couldn't help herself. And he glanced in her direction as he neared his building. He glanced in her direction. HE GLANCED IN HER DIRECTION! Her heart beat faster and she felt herself go faint. He had a confused, amused, and slightly accusing stare on his handsome face, as if to say, "Why are you still here?"

Good point. Why was she still here? She hadn't meant to waste her whole Sunday morning outside his house. But she had. She hadn't eaten, drunk or moved in over 4 hours. It was two o'clock now. And Derek had a grocery bag in one hand, Clooney's lead in the other. He stopped to do some stretches for a couple of minutes outside his building before taking out his keys and opening the door. Then, he was gone.

She stuck in some more photos she had taken. One was of him stretching, and the other was of him reaching down to pat Clooney. Then, she gently placed the notebook in her blue bag and hurried back to the train station, unaware that Derek was watching her from behind the curtains in his bedroom window.

_Monday 30th July 2012_

_Work was horrible. I couldn't stop thinking about cigarettes. But I've quit cold turkey and I am never going back to them. They kill people. I hope Derek appreciates what I'm doing for him. I left work early again and now I'm at Georgetown waiting for him to come._

He came a couple of minutes later, with Snow White. She studied them both: Derek was in black pants, as usual, with a light blue cotton shirt which was unbuttoned at the top to show the start of his wonderful chest. Snow White was wearing black ankle boots, smart black pants and a tight red v-neck t-shirt. Her eyes were beautifully large and her lips were natural this time. They were laughing together. She tried to work out what they were talking about.

"Emily, why?" Derek was saying. Oh… So she was called Emily.

"Because…" she said seriously.

"Because what?"

"Because I'm scared that I'm messing up the team. I can't grab onto my old life Derek." They were both serious now, looking into each others eyes. Jennifer could see that Derek was biting his lip inside his mouth.

"But…"

She took his hand here. "Derek. It's not as easy as it sounds. I spent seven months away from you guys. I can't act as though that part of the year didn't happen."

He sighed. "No…"

"I need a fresh start Derek." Her eyes were shining now. "I can't…"

He just smiled sadly. Then, he held his arms open and she moved into his grip, resting her head against his chest. He enveloped her in his hug, resting his hands awkwardly on her back. Then, he grew more confident, and stroked her hair. She said something that Jennifer couldn't hear, and Derek sniggered.

"Can I come over tonight?" she asked when they'd broke apart. "I can't really face my lonely apartment right now."

He smiled. "Of course you can."

"So you don't have any other plans tonight?"

"Nope." He grinned.

"No girlfriend number 5 of this week? Or late night parties?"

"Ha! I'll have you know Emily, I've only had one girlfriend for the past two months!"

"Oooh…" she said sarcastically. "Wow… Is that a record?"

They both laughed together, as the train that Emily would have got on pulled away from the station. They got on his train a few minutes later. She followed, making sure that she stayed close enough to them to hear their interesting conversation. So it seemed like Emily had been away from Derek and this team thing, and now she couldn't quite get back into the swing of things. Jennifer couldn't wait to find out more.


	5. DISGUISED

Disclaimer: If you recognise anything or anybody, the chances are that CBS owns it, and I don't. If you don't recognise it, it's likely that I _do_ own it. Any mistakes are mine (duh… who else's would they be?), and I apologise for them. _Please make me aware of them _so I correct them. Thanks!

**Apollo City Chapter 5**

Derek and Emily sat next to each other in one of the seats arranged in fours. Jennifer sat in a four as well, the one behind them, with her back to them so it didn't look like she was listening to them.

"I'm so glad Reid is talking to me again," she said quietly. Reed? Like the plant? But it had to be a person. Jennifer had never heard of anyone called Reed. Maybe it was like one of those exotic girls' names that people sometimes called their daughters, like Midnight, Apple and China. You could get away with being called almost anything nowadays.

Derek sighed. "Yeah. That was hard."

"How, ummm, was he when I was gone?"

He? Okay now Jennifer really was confused. Maybe it was a _really _exotic boys' name. Or a surname?

"He was silent. He cried a lot although he never let us see. He started-"

"He started what?"

"He started doing drugs again."

"He what?" she sounded dangerously close to tears.

"Yeah."

"Oh my god…" she whispered."I need to call him to tell him I'm sorry."

"He'll appreciate that," Derek said softly. Jennifer looked in the window to see their reflections. She was resting her head on his shoulder, and he had her arm around her. Jennifer felt hot jealously bubbling up inside of her, and before she could stop herself, she let out a low growl of anger. People stared at her. They turned to look, eyebrows raised. Then, it happened. She could see something click in Derek's mind. He recognised her. His face changed for a split second and his eyebrows rose even further. They turned back around and resumed their position in each other's embrace. He had recognised her! Oh my god! Jennifer didn't know whether to be happy or scared.

"I don't have my go-bag."

Go-bag? Wasn't that a ready packed bag of stuff that cops used to get away quickly? Were they cops?

"You can borrow something, it doesn't matter."

"Thanks." Jennifer could see her touched smile in the reflection in the scratched plastic window.

At London Street, they got off together, walking close together, but not touching. As they entered his building, Derek glanced down the street. He caught Jennifer's eye and started at her accusingly. She flushed a deep scarlet and looked down. As soon as he closed the door to his building, she turned on her heel and fled down the street back towards the station.

_Later: He was at the station with Snow White. Her real name is Emily, and she is staying at his place tonight because she's scared. They were talking about something serious. I think Emily left, and can't resume her old life now that she's back. Derek seems to be a player, although he's not hitting on me, or her. He saw me following them and he recognised me on the train. I need to disguise myself._

So she stopped at the Wal-Mart before she got home to pick up some menthol cigarettes, nicotine patches, latex gloves and some hair colours. Last minute, she grabbed some chocolate and cheap wine, not feeling up to walking into Jim's liquor store and answering all of his questions.

At home, she started sketching him again. She drew what she saw in the reflection of the window - his arm around Emily, and her head on his muscular shoulder. She chose not to draw his shocked face when he'd recognised her, because it scared her. She didn't want to be recognised. If he knew who she was, he might report her. And she didn't want that. She wasn't doing anything wrong, but he might think that she was. People were funny like that.

She finished the chocolate and wine, had a couple of cigarettes, and got in the shower. Feeling refreshed, she went back to the kitchen and stuck on her new nicotine patch. Then, her hair still wet, she pulled some latex gloves and chose her hair dye. It was red. She massaged the thick gel onto her hair and let it rest while she had another cigarette. Then, she wrapped a towel around her hair and went to bed.

_Tuesday 31st July 2012_

_I got up early to wash my hair. It is a deep red and I like it. Now, I'm going to cut it a bit._

She got her kitchen scissors, and, peering into the steamed up bathroom mirror, she cut the first bit of her hair. The red locks fell into the sink. She continued for five minutes until her hair reached just below her shoulders. She had layered it pretty well, she thought. It was uneven and choppy, but it was just the style. It's fashionable; she could say when people asked. It cost $125 to do. People would believe that. Next, she got out her new makeup and made her eyes large and black. Her lips were red like her hair. She dug out some clothes she hadn't worn in a long time - skinny black jeans, heels, and a black leather jacket. She was a new person. Jennifer had never looked like this before. She looked confident, sophisticated, youthful, and sexy. She hoped he would like it. He was not meant to recognise her, and he wouldn't: she looked too different. But she still hoped he would like it. She took a picture on her Polaroid camera and stuck in.

At work, people commented. They did theatrical double takes, not recognising her at first. That was good. They knew her well, so they would recognise her. Derek didn't know her well (sadly) so he hopefully would have no clue who she was and she could keep investigating him for ages without being noticed.

_Later: He's standing in front of me, with Emily. They haven't recognised me at all. They're talking about this boy, Reed, again. And there's someone called Dave, and another person called Hotch, one called Strass (Strauss? Strawss?) and one called Rossi. There was a Garcia and a "my baby girl" - probably Derek's girlfriend. Sometimes, two of these people seem to be the same person, and I'm wondering whether I've heard this all correctly. They all seem to have weird names and I think they are addressing them by surnames. I think all these people make up the "team'' that they were talking about before. I'd like to take a picture of Derek and Emily but it would be too conspicuous here in a crowded subway station._

Jennifer followed Derek home as usual, and he didn't notice a thing.

_Wednesday 1st August 2012_

_Today, oh my god, deep breath: He wasn't there. Nor was Emily. I have no idea why. Maybe he recognised me after all and is taking a different route home?_

_Thursday 2nd August 2012_

_They're still not here. I'm starting to wonder whether it's the same thing that happened on the Friday 20th July where he got a call and disappeared in a hurry from the station._

_Friday 3rd August 2012_

_I can't take this for much longer! He has to come back! I think he must have some job which requires him to work abroad or away from home, like a cop or an agent. And that Emily girl must work with him to, along with that "team" I suppose._

_Saturday 4th August 2012_

_Still not here. I think I might go crazy if he doesn't come home soon._

_Sunday 5th August 2012_

_No work today, so I'm going to go to his house just to see if anything there points to where he might be. _

**tbc…**


	6. RECOGNITION

Disclaimer: If you recognise anything or anybody, the chances are that CBS owns it, and I don't. If you don't recognise it, it's likely that I _do_ own it. Any mistakes are mine (duh… who else's would they be?), and I apologise for them. _Please make me aware of them _so I correct them. Thanks!

**Apollo City Chapter 6**

At noon on Sunday, Jennifer pressed the intercom bell for apartment one in 235 London Street. There was a small pause, and then a high-pitched female voice said:

_"Hello?"_

"Hello I'm looking for Derek."

_"Sorry, Derek who?"_

Then Jennifer realised that she didn't know his surname.

"Derek… Umm… he's tall, black, built…"

_"Sorry, I only moved in here recently, I don't recognise him."_

"Oh, that's okay. No worries. Sorry for interrupting." She hung up, glad that there was no camera on this building's intercom. No-body could recognise her from her voice, especially over a cheap intercom installation.

She rang apartment two.

"Hello, I'm looking for Derek; do I have the right house?"

_"No, but I do know a Derek Morgan in this building." _The man's voice was deep and raspy.

"Do you know which number?"

_"Yes. Who is this?"_

She hesitated. "A friend."

She could hear the man deliberating. Then, _"He lives in number 15."_

"Thank you. Appreciate it."

So. Apartment 15, 235 London Street. But now Jennifer had the address, she wasn't sure what she should do with it. She could send him a gift. She could call him. She could break into his house. She could, but would she have the nerve?

She was still standing outside the building door, leaning against the wall, when two people walked up to the door. It was Derek and Emily, deep in conversation. OMIGOD! IT WAS DEREK! She inhaled, and tried to keep calm. Don't hyperventilate Jenny. He was looking gorgeous, in a black t-shirt and black jeans, with his chunky belt. Emily was wearing a mauve sweater and navy jeans, also with a big belt. They both looked exhausted and were carrying overnight bags which were slung carelessly over their shoulders. They were now three or four metres away, and Derek was taking his keys out of his back pocket.

"I can't decide…" Emily was saying. "…You think I should stay."

"Yes." Derek answered. He stared at Jennifer. He threw his keys to Emily, which she caught.

"Go ahead," he said, indicating with his head. Then he looked at Jennifer. She stared into his dark eyes, feeling herself getting lost in their beauty. Emily opened the door and went in. It slammed behind her.

"What's your name?"

"Jennifer Jareau."

"Derek Morgan."

"You following me Jennifer?" he asked.

Oh god. He was onto her. He knew. Oh god… She didn't reply.

"You know what I do for a living Jennifer? I work for the FBI. I'm a profiler. I study human behaviour. And your behaviour tells me that you are stalking me. Am I right?" She didn't reply. "So, either you are going to stop, or I'm gonna have to report you."

"You wouldn't do that," she said.

"Yes I would. And believe me, I know some good people."

She didn't answer, but continued staring at him. He stared back. Then, she broke into a run, and sprinted all the way back to the station.

Her mind was in a whirlwind. He had recognised her. She had to change her disguises. And fast. She would get different wigs, and wear new ones every day. She would wear different makeup and clothes. She would become a new person every day. She wouldn't wait for him at Georgetown, or follow him home. She would lay low for a while, until he thought she'd disappeared. She would continue with her life as if he didn't exist. For now.

_Later: He recognised me. The disguises didn't work. He told me to stop following him or he'll report me. He's a profiler for the FBI so he can do that. I'm going to change my disguises every day. And I'm going to lay low for a while, to trick him into thinking I'm gone. On the bright side, I do know his address: 15, 235 London Street, and his full name - Derek Morgan. I'm going to go to Jim's now and get some wine. I'm craving cigarettes, but I'm doing fine without them. Menthols are okay. And I need chocolate. Badly._

On Monday, she left for work with a terrible hangover, wearing a black curly wig and brown coloured contact lenses. She had glasses on and was wearing a huge scarf to cover her shoulders and chin. Work was awful as usual, and she couldn't concentrate for the hammering in her head. She was bloated from the chocolate and couldn't wait for the train journey home, where she would see him.

She caught her usual train home and waited as the stops rushed past. Then, there at Georgetown. There he was. With Emily, They were talking, as usual. And he didn't notice her. Didn't even glance in her direction.

_Tuesday 7th August 2012_

_I did the same as yesterday - I got on my usual train and saw him at Georgetown with Emily. Emily. I hate the name. _

_Wednesday 8th August 2012_

_He was with Emily today at the station, and they were holding hands. I stand corrected by my previous statement. I think they are a couple now. They were just co-workers and friends before, but now I think there's something more._

_Thursday 9th August 2012_

_He was there again, with _her_. They are definitely in love. I could practically hear them laughing together. They look so happy. I'm wearing a blond curly wig today, but I only wear the wigs on the journeys, never in the office. I don't want to attract attention._

_Friday 10th August 2012_

_I need to talk to him. I need to see him close up again. I can't deal with these 10 second glimpses once a day._

_Saturday 11th August 2012_

_HE WASN'T THERE! Nor was she. Maybe they don't work weekends. I need him. Badly._

_Sunday 12th August 2012_

_I did nothing today, just lying in bed thinking of him. I need to get something for him for our one month anniversary, which is soon._

_Monday 13th August 2012_

_I had a genius idea. I'm going to Google him - Derek Morgan - ; see what I come up with. I can't do it at work - people will get suspicious and ask questions, so I'll find an internet café somewhere. Too bad I can't afford a pc. _

_Tuesday 14th August 2012_

_I got nothing but a couple of articles about him when his team solved some big cases. They seem to do stuff all over the US, which is probably why he disappears so often. They've done some big stuff, like the Zodiac Killer and people. My little hero, he is._

_Wednesday 15th August 2012_

_He was getting lovey dovey with Emily today. They were too close for my comfort. He had his arm around her, and she was snuggled into his shoulder. I hate her._

_Thursday 16th August 2012_

_I'm ill today. I have a horrible cold, but I still went to work so I could see him on the return journey. Besides, I need the money. I was 'texting' and took a picture of them, which I'll print at work. No-one needs to know._

_Friday 17th August 2012_

_I printed the picture of them. It's a really nice picture of him._

_Saturday 18th August 2012_

_I got the surprises ready for our one month anniversary. It's tomorrow!_

_Sunday 19th August 2012_

…_._

**tbc….**


	7. ANNIVERSARY

Disclaimer: If you recognise anything or anybody, the chances are that CBS owns it, and I don't. If you don't recognise it, it's likely that I _do_ own it. Any mistakes are mine (duh… who else's would they be?), and I apologise for them. _Please make me aware of them _so I correct them. Thanks!

**Apollo City Chapter 7**

On Sunday, Jennifer got up early for their anniversary. She put on her best dress and spent a long time in the bathroom perfecting her hair (silky, dark brown, shoulder-length) and her elaborate make-up. She polished her shiny black heels and grabbed her posh hang-bag before stepping out of her front door. She made it all the way to Apollo City Station before she had a change of heart and hurried all the way back to her apartment.

She rummaged through her overflowing cupboard and pulled out some black skinny jeans with combat-style pockets with little studs. She found her old doc-martins and a dark red v-neck t-shirt, which she wore under a smart-ish suit jacket. She wiped away her enormous smoky, over-the-top eyes and replaced it with some simple mascara and nude lipstick.

She brushed her choppy red hair into a wig-cap, which she had brought from a costume shop. Wig-caps are worn under wigs and over the real hair rather like a swimming hat. The real hair is shrunk down under the wig-cap and becomes almost invisible, making the wig seem more real. Then, she placed the wig over her seemingly bald head where it fastened onto the wig-cap so it wouldn't slide around.

She tipped the contents of her expensive hand-bag onto the kitchen table and scurried around her little apartment to find a cheaper, less girly looking one. She found what she was looking for, stuffed what she needed into the new bag (along with her present to him - which she'd forgotten the first time) and ran out of her apartment.

When the train pulled into the station twenty minutes later, and before it opened its doors, she caught a glimpse of her reflection. With her feminine, yet not girly and frilly, and smart clothes, her long eyelashes and dark hair, she resembled someone. And that someone was Emily.

At London Street Station, she started to get nervous. She had no idea how to do this. Would she ring on the intercom and say hi? Or should she sneak into the building and leave the present outside his door. The latter was the better idea. She would say that she was a friend of his, but that he wasn't answering his cell, because it was a Sunday morning and he was probably still asleep. And the intercom wasn't working in his apartment because his dog Clooney had chewed through the cord yesterday evening. And the reason she was here so early (it was still not past eight am) was because she had confused the time zones, because she had travelled all the way from… London, England. She would have to put on an accent, but that could be easily accomplished. And by the time she had thought all of this out, she was at 235 London Street.

She stopped and took a deep breath, taking care to look inconspicuous. The street was incredibly quiet. She could see no-one around. The sun was starting to heat up the road, and it smelt fresh and warm, like all summer mornings should.

She walked around the block a couple of times and sat on the bench outside for a few minutes before she noticed a small door on the side of the building. It was the trash can room for his building. Holding her nose and breathing shallowly through her mouth, she stepped into the dark room and felt along the wall for a light switch. The harsh lights flickered on, and she spotted a notice on the back of the door: _"Please lock the door when you leave."_ Well, someone had kindly forgotten to do that, and now she was into his building. She could see the door at the back of the room leading to the apartments, and she tiptoed up to it. She placed her hands on the cold metal handle and tugged. But it wouldn't open. It was one of those doors that you couldn't open from one side, for security precautions. Well that sucked.

She left the trash room and walked back around to the front of the building. She was walking on the same side of the road as the door to his building. She was to the right of the door. Someone, a woman in her late sixties by the looks of it, was leaving 235 London Street. Jennifer was six paces away. The woman opened the door and breathed in the sweet-smelling air, her hand still on the door-handle. Jennifer was three paces away. She glanced in her direction, smiled, and said:

"Morning."

"Morning," Jennifer replied too quickly, now one pace away. She had forgotten the British accent. Oh well.

The woman looked in the opposite direction, let go of the handle and walked down the road away from Jennifer. The door was swinging shut. Quickly, she dived for the handle and grabbed it just before clicked into place, trying not to make a sound so the woman wouldn't notice.

Celebrating silently, she opened the door and stepped inside. It was a spacious reception, slightly dark, with the windows closed and locked. It was cool inside, and Jennifer appreciated the gentle whirring of the ceiling fan which masked her footsteps. She searched for a sigh, and found a mirror plated plaque which told her which floor Derek was on. Floor 3. Instead of risking the elevator, she climbed up the stairs, aware of her agonisingly loud footsteps.

She made it to the third floor, panting slightly because of her heavy bag. She glanced left and right to check that no-one was there, then tiptoed to her right, following the signs. She passed number thirteen, then fourteen, then stopped. She heard a key turning in a lock. She whipped around the corner and stood with her back against the wall. To her right was a dead end, with Derek's apartment, number fifteen, glaring at her. To her left was a blank wall, which was next to apartment fourteen. The edge of the door to number fourteen was in line with the edge of the wall she was leaning against. And she watched in horror as the door to number fourteen opened.

"Back in a few, honey," a man was saying as the door swung open. He walked off, wallet in hand. The door closed.

Jennifer felt sick with relief. She snuck up to Derek's door and dropped the gift there. It made a startlingly loud thump. She hurried away before anyone noticed, tiptoeing down the stairs and running out of the building back to the station.

On the train, she looked at her watch. 8:23 am. Jennifer felt she already needed a good night's sleep, but if it was a usual Sunday, she wouldn't even be awake yet. She was back in bed by 9:15 am, watching her small television and eating dark chocolate.

In the advert break, she wondered if Derek had found her gift. And if he liked it. It was a large tray of chocolates and homemade card which she had spent hours perfecting, which pictures of him. It was like a shrine of him. He would appreciate it, she hoped.

Exhausted from the stress of the morning and with nothing else to do, she fell asleep. Hunger woke her, and she found that it was five in the evening. She ordered a take-away and wolfed it down before giving in to the nagging urge she'd had for ages. She tided herself up a little, then took the train to London Street, and sat outside his building until nightfall.

_Later: his street is very quiet on Sunday's. A couple of people with dogs walked past, and delivery man came to the building with a couple of packages, and left with a cardboard box wrapped in a lot of black tape. He hasn't left his apartment for hours, although I swear I saw his handsome face peeping out from behind some thick curtains on the third floor. I guess it could be my imagination. It's cold now, and dark and I'm getting lonely looking at all these happy families from outside their lit up windows. I'm going home and back to bed. Tomorrow, I'm going to get someone with more tech skills than me to do some digging around._


	8. FIRED

Disclaimer: If you recognise anything or anybody, the chances are that CBS owns it, and I don't. If you don't recognise it, it's likely that I _do_ own it. Any mistakes are mine (duh… who else's would they be?), and I apologise for them. _Please make me aware of them _so I correct them. Thanks!

**Apollo City Chapter 8**

_Monday 20th August_

_Most people at work have left for their summer vacations so it's just me, boss, and five other people. I'm the only one in my section, so I can do some digging in peace. And I can write this without people nosing over my shoulder. I've got Lily, a girl in the CAD CAM section of Troy Stewarts to search Derek Morgan and see what she comes up with. She's quiet, Lily is, and doesn't ask questions, which is why I asked her to do it. Plus, she can find anything on the internet; she's a genius!_

_Later: When I got home, there was a package waiting for me. It was a cardboard box wrapped in lots of black tape. And when I opened it, it was the present I had given Derek. HE HAD SENT IT BACK! _

_Now it's time for action. I'm going to call him with the number that Lily found for me. _

She dialled the number that she already knew by heart and waited.

_"Hello?"_

"Hi, Derek, it's Jennifer…" she started. He hung up. She tried again. And again. And again. All from different numbers. She tried the code in front that hides your number from the receiver's phone. She went to pay phones and borrowed her neighbours cell phones. She gave up and went to bed, sobbing, five hours later.

She stopped herself from calling him or having anything to do with him for three days, fuelling her cravings with alcohol, cigarettes and chocolate from Jim's shop. She hadn't been able to quit smoking. Jim had noticed how deranged she was looking and commented, but she just brushed it off, ignoring him as usual.

On Friday morning, she woke at eleven with a splitting headache. She swore loudly as she saw the time, and then groaned, clutching her head. She was late for work. Very late. She crawled out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom where she washed her face with ice-cold water and pulled on the clothes she had dumped on the floor yesterday. She grabbed her handbag and ran to the station.

Jennifer arrived at work at midday, after a nightmarish journey of delays and odd looks from her fellow travellers. She hurried to her desk, her tangled hair flying behind her, and found her boss, Troy Stewart, sitting there.

"Ahh, Jennifer, there you are."

"I'm so sorry sir; I overslept - not feeling well. I'm really sor-" He held up a hand to silence her flow of words. She stopped.

"This is unacceptable Jennifer. You come in everyday hungover an-"

"I'm not hungover s-"

"Don't play games Jennifer; I can smell the liquor on your breath."

"I-" she started, and then stopped at the glare in his eyes.

"You looked like you've been dragged through a hedge backwards. You're skirts not ironed, you have ladders in your tights, your shirt is stained…" she looked at him, her face bright red with embarrassment. "You haven't finished any of the work that our company needed to produce for last week, you don't answer your cell phone, you stink of cigarette smoke and you're always late. Can you give me a reason why I shouldn't fire you?"

Jennifer hesitated before saying in a small voice: "I'm having a hard time… could you give me a second chance?"

"You have until the end of the day to prove yourself. I have candidates for your position coming in for interviews at two - three women and two men who all went to prestigious design schools all over the USA. You need to show me that you're better than those five by the time you go home. If you haven't improved you'll be leaving this company in two weeks. Do you understand?"

She glanced up from studying the carpet, her face crimson. "Yes sir."

Lunchtime came and went. Jennifer didn't eat, but set about finishing her overdue part of the project. By four, the other five people in her office had left, with nothing else to do as the last part of the project left to finish was hers. Mr Stewart was just ending the last interview and showing the last candidate out. Jennifer looked up. There was Troy, a huge grin on his face as he held the door open for his last interviewee. She was strikingly tall and beautiful. She had long blond hair that fell to her perfectly shaped butt. Her eyes were large and green, and her lips nude and pouting. She wore a black dress that showed off her toned legs, and blue cardigan with black heels, and carried a blue handbag stuffed with a couple of books and a salad carton. Jennifer gazed longingly at this sample of human perfection.

Before long, her boss was standing over her shoulder, looking at the work on her desk. Jennifer looked too. She had done hardly anything. She thought back to what she had been doing for the past couple of hours: thinking of Derek. Not working, but daydreaming about Derek Morgan.

"Is this all you've done?" asked Troy, a hint of anger touching his voice. She didn't answer him. "Jennifer, this was all meant to be finished last-"

"I KNOW!" she screamed, standing up and knocking some of the loose papers onto the floor. Her boss wiggled the mouse of the computer screen. It was off.

"An intern could have done what took you almost four hours in thirty minutes. You didn't even turn the computer on!" he shouted, pointing at the blank screen. Jennifer looked. She saw her reflection in the black rectangle. Her hair was sticking out at all angles. Her face was red with anger and her eyes dark like a panda's from sleep loss. Her teeth were yellow from the cigarettes and her lips wide apart in a shout. She was wearing an old shirt which was too low and showed off her bra-less cleavage, and a crumpled navy skirt. Her black tights had innumerable ladders and holes and she was wearing scruffy, falling-apart converses. She was a mess.

"I'm giving you two weeks to find another job, then you're outta here, understand Jennifer?"

"F*ck the two weeks. I quit!" She whispered in a dangerously quiet voice.

"Fine. You won't be getting a paycheque," Troy retorted.

"So?"

"So get out now," he said, his voice also menacingly low and slow. Their faces were close together, their eyes squinting with rage. She turned quickly, making sure her hair flicked in his face and grabbed her few belongings from her desk: a half empty bottle of vodka, numerous chocolate bars, cigarettes, a couple of pens, a notebook, a photo of her on holiday, and the precious photo of Derek Morgan which she had framed in an expensive silver frame. She dropped them into her handbag and left, not even glancing back at her former boss as she stormed out of the building.

**Sorry it's been so long! Drop me a review please; it gives me motivation to write faster!**


	9. BREAKDOWN

Disclaimer: If you recognise anything or anybody, the chances are that CBS owns it, and I don't. If you don't recognise it, it's likely that I _do_ own it. Any mistakes are mine (duh… who else's would they be?), and I apologise for them. _Please make me aware of them _so I correct them. Thanks!

**Apollo City Chapter 9**

It was time to move in for the kill. Now Jennifer had lost her job, she could focus all of her time on Derek. She finally joined the world of social networking sites and searched for hours on end until she found Derek Morgan on Facebook and Twitter. From there she fiddled around a bit until she found his email address and the contact details of his snow white - Emily Prentiss. She recorded all of these details in her blue notebook until she had filled a whole page with this useful information. Then, she got to work.

_Friday 24th August 2012_

_I left Troy Stewarts for good today, but that's not important. I'm going to search for his contact numbers._

_Monday 27th August 2012_

_After searching for AGES, I've finally found my pot of gold! I have his contact details! I have his work cell phone numbers, his private cell phone number, house number, work address, home address, his mom's address, three email addresses, his Twitter and Facebook account, as well as Emily's cell phone number. I'm going to get to work right away._

Over the next few days, she wrote notes to him and sent them to his work. She knew he'd got them, because she received them back in her mail. But it was okay, because she knew he'd seen them. He'd probably touched the paper, she thought, pressing her lips to it and kissing it. She set up 27 fake facebook accounts and messaged him from every one. She had sent up 231 Twitter accounts and each one was following him.

She called his mom and told her she was his new girlfriend, and that she wanted to meet his parents. Turns out his dad died when he was ten and his mom lives in Chicago so meeting them wouldn't exactly easy. For that call she had turned the shower on and told his mom that he was in the shower and would call her later.

Then, Jennifer texted Derek pretending to be Emily, saying that she'd left her cell phone on the train by accident and that this was her new number. It had worked for a couple of hours until Derek had gotten suspicious and called her. She hadn't been able to pull it off, so he'd hung up, not giving her a chance to explain herself.

_Tuesday 28th August 2012_

_I need to explain myself. I can't help what I'm doing. I don't want to be stalking him. I want to get out a live my life. I feel sorry for him. He's probably scared and a bit creeped out by what I'm doing. But I can't help myself, I honestly can't. He's my fix. He's my drug. He's my everything. I'm well and truly addicted to Derek Morgan._

At six pm, Jennifer took her little notebook, grabbed an old rucksack and left the house and was on the train in less than twenty minutes. She had had a shower and done her makeup. Her large sunglasses and black hoodie covered her pale face, and her long black wig was combed and preened to perfection. She didn't look conspicuous, abnormal or stalkerish, she thought as she glanced at her reflection in the scratched train windows.

"Franklin Close." Jennifer pulled the hood lower over her face.

"Georgetown." Slightly nervous, she got up and pushed her way through the rush hour crowd to get off the train. She waited there for over half an hour before she saw him. He looked gorgeous as always. As did Emily Prentiss. And. Oh. My. God.

They were holding hands.

Derek and Emily were holding hands. And kissing.

And they looked so happy together.

Then everything was a blur. She tried to stop herself but failed miserably. Her feet were moving by themselves; her mouth shouting words that she didn't want to voice aloud.

"NO! HE'S MINE!"

They looked at her. So did everyone else. Emily half turned her head towards Derek mouthing something Jennifer didn't understand.

"Jennifer?" asked Derek softly.

Her heart was beating so fast that it hurt. She couldn't breath. He was talking to HER!

"Derek get away from that bitch, Emily," she spat, loathing in her voice.

"What?" Emily snapped, offended. No. Jennifer hadn't meant to offend her. No. No. She didn't mean it that way! But now, again, her mouth was speaking words that she didn't want to say.

"He's mine Emily! You hear that? DEREK MORGAN IS MINE!" She was on her knees at his feet, with everyone staring at her. Derek had both of his hands on her shoulders now. And oh it felt so good. And suddenly, she had the most excruciating headache she could possible imagine. She clutched her head, moaning in pain as the voices screamed inside her head.

_It feels so good._

**Shut it Jennifer, you're going mad. Leave Derek alone.**

_You know nothing Jenny! NOTHING!_

**You're going to get arrested for harassing the poor man and his girlfriend!**

_His GIRLFRIEND. I hate Emily Prentiss. Just as I hate you, Jenny._

**YOU'RE CRAZY JENNIFER! YOU NEED TO STOP!**

_HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT YOU'RE NOT THE CRAZY ONE JENNY?_

**That is besides the point Jennifer. You need help. You just need to admit it. **

_WHY SHOULD I?_

**Just trust me. **

_WHY? F*CK OFF JENNY!_

**Please, Jennifer. Please just trust me.**

And suddenly Derek was saying that too. He was crouching beside her, saying "Please, Jennifer. Please just trust me," softly into her ear. And the excitement overwhelmed her.

_OH MY GOD HE HAS HIS ARM ROUND ME AND IS WHISPERING IN MY EAR! OMIGOD! AHHHH! THIS IS AMAZING!_

**Calm down Jennifer!**

"We're going to get you some help Jennifer."

_I DON'T __NEED__ HELP, JENNY!_

**Yes, you do Jennifer! Just admit it!**

"Please just trust me. Come with me," he was repeating gently.

"Okay…" she managed to whisper feebly. She looked up. The staring, accusing faces all blurred in the background. She only saw him - standing there in his designer jeans and studded leather jacket, holding out both hands to her. She took them cautiously, absent-mindedly stroking their softness.

**Stop that at once Jennifer.**

"Stop that," he ordered, looking faintly disgusted.

"Sorry," she said, a little sob emerging from her throat. She looked at him. "Please put the handcuffs on me."

"What?"

"Put the handcuffs on me. I- I'm afraid…. I'm afraid I wont be able to… control myself."

Derek's eyes softened. "Okay," he said, still holding her wrists.

Emily stepped up from behind them, taking the handcuffs off her belt and moving to place them on her wrists.

_NO! NOT HER!_

"NO!" she screamed, her voice hoarse and raw. She whipped around and managed to slip her hands out of Derek's grip to slap Emily across the face. But there was blood.

**Oh my god Jennifer! What the f*ck have you done? You scratched Emily's face! Oh my god it's bleeding so much!**

_SHE DESERVED IT!_

She blinked. And suddenly she was faced with Derek and Emily, both pointing their guns at her.

So what did you think? If you didn't understand, **this voice** and _this voice _are both voices inside Jennifer's head. **This one is called Jenny**, and _this one is called Jennifer. _This font is the narrating font. Sorry if that was a bit unclear! So… review or message me on what you think should happen next. I haven't written it yet so you can tell me what you want to see happen and it might happen. And please tell me whether you like it or not! Thanks xxxxxxxxx


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